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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28905243">Open Your Eyes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PistachioWritings/pseuds/PistachioWritings'>PistachioWritings</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I added the violence warning just because there's a lot of blood, Whump, probably a lot more blood than is realistic but hey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:48:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,206</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28905243</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PistachioWritings/pseuds/PistachioWritings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Elias helps Jon to open his new eyes, and it hurts a lot more than Jon expects.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Open Your Eyes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There are two bathrooms in the basement of the Magnus Institute. One is close to the stairs and gets as much traffic as can be expected for a bathroom in the archives. The other is in the back, hidden behind rows and rows of dust-covered shelves where even the archive staff don’t often go. It’s here that Jon likes to hide whenever he wants to be alone. Locking himself in his office is always an option, of course, but the empty bathroom is almost like a liminal space. Somewhere he can go where the expectations that everybody has of him don’t apply.</p><p>	It was here that he went on this particular day, when the stress of being the Archivist was almost overwhelming. It didn’t help that he was in immense physical pain. When he had woken up from his coma a couple months ago, he’d come home with some kind of bump or growth or something just above his hip. It had been small at first, barely noticeable, but it had grown alarmingly quickly. And it had multiplied. Today he had over thirty of them scattered all across his body, each in various stages of growth. His doctor had told him there was nothing there and had recommended he see a therapist, saying they might be a hallucination caused by the trauma of his ‘accident’.</p><p>	But Jon knew he was wrong. Whatever these were, they weren’t a hallucination. Hallucinations don’t hurt like this, they don’t constantly feel like whatever was growing under his skin was about to rip through his flesh like cheap paper. Right? </p><p>	The first growth was still the biggest, about an inch across, and it was the most painful. Jon pulled his sweater over his head and leaned over the cold sink counter to inspect it in the mirror.</p><p>	“Disgusting,” he muttered, wincing when he poked at it. The skin was red and tender like a healing wound. Like a fresh hematoma, perhaps. Yes, that must be it. They were simply bruises, bloated with blood. They were soft too, like a bruise. Ignore that he hadn’t been hit or fallen down. Ignore that there was no logical reason for him to have developed such injuries. They were just gross, squishy, blood-filled bruises. That’s all.</p><p>	“They’re not bruises, Jon.”</p><p>	The sound startled him, causing him to lose his balance and slam his hip into the side of the counter. That actually would leave a bruise. What scared him more than the unexpected intrusion though, was that at Elias’ voice something under the skin moved. It reminded him far too much of Jane Prentiss and her worms. Is that what it was? Were there things living inside him, just waiting to make him into another hive like Prentiss?</p><p>	“They’re not worms either. Really, Jon. I thought we had gotten past all this paranoia.” Elias sighed and offered him a hand up from where he had crumpled to the ground.</p><p>	“What are they then?” Jon decided to ignore that Elias had apparently been reading his thoughts and took his hand.</p><p>	“Nothing to be worried about, I assure you. May I see?”</p><p>	Jon nodded slowly and turned to show him the growth on his side. Whatever was underneath swiveled and squirmed the closer Elias got. His breath hitched in expectancy of pain when long, slender fingers brushed the surface of his skin, but the sensation was far from what he feared. In fact, the touch was rather pleasant, cool and soothing against the warm growth.</p><p>	“If you’ll let me, I may be able to help,” Elias said, looking up from where he was touching. “This one’s about ready to open.”</p><p>	“O- Open?” A shot of terror ran down Jon’s spine at the word. What could possibly be under his skin that was going to open? He pulled away. “Tell me what’s going on first. What are they? Why couldn’t the doctors see them? Wh-”</p><p>	“That’s quite enough questions. They’re eyes, meant to see, not be seen, and they’re ready to open. Now, would you like my help? Or would you rather they open on their own? I can assure you the latter will hurt much more than the former.”</p><p>	“I…” The words got caught in his throat. “What do you mean by open?”</p><p>	“I told you, Jon,” Elias said, exasperated, “they’re eyes. You can wait until the lids pull apart on their own, or you can let me cut them open for you and get it over with. Your choice.”</p><p>	Jon’s eyes widened in fear. “Pull… no. No, don’t let that happen. Please.”</p><p>	Elias’ expression turned to one of soft compassion. “There’s no need to be afraid; the pain will be temporary, I promise.” He patted the edge of the counter while reaching into his pocket with the other hand. “Hop up here and let’s get this over with then, hm?”</p><p>	Jon did as he was told, watching warily as his boss pulled out a long silver pocketknife embellished with an eerily realistic carving of an eye. The metal glinted in the cold light of the fluorescent bathroom lights and Jon’s panicking brain interpreted it as menacing. Was he really about to let Elias take a knife to his skin? Was he insane?</p><p>	Maybe so, but the part of him that wanted this pain gone won out. So he sat still as he could and steeled himself against what was to come. </p><p>	Elias was gentle and quick about it, but that didn’t change the fact that the pain nearly made him pass out. He felt the blood pouring warm and sticky down his leg from the wound and biting his tongue wasn’t enough to keep him from crying out. He wanted to tell himself that that was it, that it was over, but he Knew there was more to come. There were at least ten more almost as big as the first and so many more too small yet to open. This wasn’t going to be over today.</p><p>	It shouldn’t have been possible, but each cut hurt more than the last. Jon gripped the edge of the countertop as hard as he could and grit his teeth against the pain. Tears rolled down his cheeks without ceasing, mingling with the blood that covered his chest, his arms, his back. Why was he bleeding so much? Why did all this have to be happening to him of all people? What did he do to deserve this?</p><p>	An impossible span of time later, he braced himself for the next cut, but it never came. “We’re done, Jon,” came Elias’ gentle voice as he brushed the tears from Jon’s cheeks with his thumb. “You can open your eyes now.”</p><p>	So he did. His eyes stung with the mixture of tears and blood, but he could see. He could See, and everything was so bright. Too bright. “Is it over?” he asked, voice weak and unsteady.</p><p>	“It’s over for today, yes. There will be more, but for now, let’s get you cleaned up. Can’t have you tracking blood through my archives, now can we?” Elias wetted a towel and started to dab at the wounds he had just made.</p><p>	“My archives,” Jon corrected unthinkingly.</p><p>	“Yes, Archivist,” Elias smiled. “They’re yours now.”</p>
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